


The Possibility of Being

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys in Chains, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Mac</p><p>In a world of magic and warriors, Qui-Gon is an Ambassador given a slave for the night by the name of Obi-Wan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Possibility of Being

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, just for amusement. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, if only to see if the bits worked they way they should. 
> 
> Thanks for Amber, Calysta and Trinity, special thanks to Wombat for an ace beta.

I have decided to keep a diary, at his prompting.  I have always considered writing a journal to be a waste of time and somewhat egocentric ­ who will be interested in my life, after all? ­ but I find it difficult to deny him in such things.   
  
He said, begin it at the beginning, at your birth.  Yet my birth was uninteresting,  my youth boring, most my adult years pedestrian.  My life, in effect, began the day I met him.  So it would be best if I began my tale there.   
  
I am, by nature, fairly fastidious, so I found my assignment at the Court of Prince Irvin distasteful.  I had been sent to Shambrelar as Ambassador at the Princeís Court..  We of the Kedesh Republic are a naturally peaceful people, absorbed as we are with our beliefs in the Force and because we lack ambition many nations think us weak.  We live fairly frugal lives, producing most of what we need, trading the fine wares of our artisans for those ores our hills fail to supply and otherwise keeping to ourselves. The few brigands and warlords that have tested our borders have left bloodied and broken, if theyíve left at all.   
  
Yet our peace does come at a price.  Part of that price is the need for constant vigilance and each senior Jedi is expected to spend part of their time, if they are suited for it, in an Ambassadorial role.  I had done my duty any number of times, quite happily, but this particular post was one I most certainly did not seek. It was my misfortune that the previous Kedesh ambassador had been brought home ill and an urgent replacement was required.   
  
I had begged to be allowed to hand the duty onto someone else, but it was decided that the Prince needed the prestige of having as his Ambassador the greatest living Jedi scholar ­ note that I lack a certain humility.  I had accepted on the understanding that it was temporary, until a more suitable candidate should be found.  My "temporary" assignment had lasted a year and I was thoroughly disenchanted from practically the first day.  This violent, aggressive and intolerant place was as far from my quiet study hall as anything could be.  I was often miserably homesick and completely uncomfortable.   
  
That important, particular night was typical of the reasons I disliked my assignment so.  The Prince had decided to throw a party.  I donít recall the reason ­ perhaps his favourite hunting hound had whelped ­ but it had rapidly descended from amusement to orgy and I had been waiting for a chance to slip away. I was partly hidden on a couch in one corner with some reading material, as far from the laughter and music as I could get without actually leaving the room.   
  
I had some hope that the Prince would leave me in peace with my wine and scrolls but it wasn't to be. The huge man stumbled across to me, a young woman beneath each arm, and grinned at me in drunken amusement.   
  
"Master Jinn..I have a gift for you."   
  
I smiled pleasantly to hide my revulsion.  "Thank you, your Highness, but I think not."   
  
"Oh, not these," the Prince said with a chuckle.  "I know you don't care for  women.  I've something special for you.  A gift to you from the Court of the  Grand Prince."  He wobbled unsteadily and the girls held him up.  "It would be a great insult to refuse, and I am sure your Holy Council wouldn't  want me to be insulted."  Not waiting for an answer, he clapped he ring-covered hands together three times.   
  
The curtains off to one side of the banqueting hall parted and a figure  stepped through.  It was a young man and he walked across the floor with the  smooth grace of a dancer and a total lack of concern about the fact that he was almost naked.   
  
Oh, he was beautiful.  So far above and apart from everyone in the room that it was indecent.  I have that memory stored away, the first sight of him.  Skin that glowed gold in the candlelight, long red-gold hair held back with golden cords behind his back framing a face of classic male beauty.   
  
Those changeable eyes, blue or green or hazel depending on his mood, watched me with a sort of professional disinterest. They were smokey golden green then, like catís eyes, pupils wide and black in the dim light.   
    
I was transfixed like some bug in a display, pinned in place by something between the visceral and the cerebral, a mixture of physical desire and a voice telling me pay attention because this one was important.  The Prince had moved forward and ran one hand over a smooth shoulder.  "This is Obi-Wan and he's my gift to you.  I expect the gift to be accepted and used as befits its value."  With a final slap of the young manís ass the Prince smiled and left, taking his girls with him.   
  
Without hesitation or any outward sign of interest,  Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and reached forward to work on the tie of my pants.  That caught my attention immediately, brought me back to reality.   "No..."   
  
Obi-Wan sat back on his haunches, those remarkable eyes downcast.  He spoke in a low, cultured voice.  "If my Lord pleases.  I will be punished if you refuse me."   
  
The life of a slave is not a happy one, I knew that, but I couldnít equate this young man with property. "I do not believe in slavery."   
  
"My Lord has the luxury of freedom to follow his beliefs.  I, on the other hand, do not.  But it is entirely up to my Lord."   
  
"What will he do to you if I send you away?"   
  
Obi-Wan looked up at me as he sat back, hands on the gold wrap that covered his hips.  "I will be sent to the Guards, as punishment.  They will not mark me because I am too valuable.  But I will be used by them all for the duration of your visit."   
  
Disgusted, I remember nearly choking in a rare flash of anger. "That's barbaric!î   
  
"Yes, that's one word for it."  The quiet voice spoke hardly above a whisper and I watched him tip his head up,  finally saw the gold band around his throat, the band sealed with a crystal stone, matching the two at his wrists.   
  
"Lords!  You're a Jedi!  They're keeping a Jedi enslaved!"  Then I was really angry, unaware of the scroll in my hand that I was shredding in sudden, blossoming anger.  "This is insupportable!"   
  
Obi-Wan tipped his head down again.  "Will you have me or not, Lord?  If  not, I must report to the Guards."   
  
"No!  I will. . ."  I reach for calm and sat back, tried to think.  "You may stay."   
  
Taking my agreement as an instruction to continue,  he reached out again and I took his banded wrists in both hands.  "As much as I donít wish to see you harmed, I really cannot agree to mating in public. Can we at least sit and talk for a while?"   
  
He drew in a deep breath and let it out, painted eyes looking up into the my face.  "Talking is not why I am here.  It will only delay the punishment."   
  
There are always alternatives, or so my little Master told me.  "What if I take you to my room?  Would that be permitted?"   
  
"That rather depends on how important you are, my Lord.  Normally I should not be taken from the room.  Some guests can be occasionally violent.  I have a certain value.î  The voice was elegantly cool and equally disdainful.  "But that is up to you, my Lord.  I will not be punished if I am forced to leave.î He emphasised the word "forcedî with a meaningful look.   
  
"Hmm, well, Iíve no experience for this sort of thing, but I read some very  trashy stories when I was younger . . .let me see . . .î   Time to be creative.  I stood, grabbed his arm and jerked him to his feet. "Very well, slave, you will come with me now!"   
  
"My Lord, have pity," Obi-Wan said with a vehemence I could read as faked, "I may not leave without permission!"   
  
"I need permission from no-one to take a slave to my bed!"  I pulled him across the room by his hair, accompanied by calls and whistles from the interested watchers around the room.  The Prince could have stoped me if he chose and I saw him watching with drunken interest as we passed.  Then he just shrugged and nodded.   
  
 As soon as we were out of sight of the others I let him go and straightened, feeling oddly uncomfortable.  "Iím sorry, I had to make that look good.  Are you hurt?"   
  
Obi-Wan tugged his hair back and rubbed his scalp.  His voice was mildly amused.  "Not at all,  I am fairly robust.  That was a very good performance, my Lord.  What now?"   
  
"We'd best retire to my rooms, I suppose," I said, as I walked beside the him along the corridor that led to my quarters.  "Young man, you've provided me with an excellent excuse to avoid a very boring evening.  By the way, do you think you could stop calling me ëmy Lordí?  My name is Qui-Gon."   
  
"I think I can manage that, Qui-Gon."   
  
He couldnít have been more than eighteen but his composure was extraordinary, almost a match for his looks.  Whatever it was, it made the hairs on most of my body stand up.   
  
When we arrived at my tower room, Obi-Wan stepped inside and stopped abruptly, looked around with wide-eyed surprised.  "Gods!  This isÖunusual."   
  
I had transformed the rather barren guest quarters assigned to me into a home more suited to a scholar.  Bookshelves took the place of tapestries against the walls, a telescope was set on a stand near one window, scroll tubes hung from hooks, the wide table next to the window carried inkhorns and quills and scattered books.  I lifted a stack of books from a chair, looked around, then put them on the floor next to the desk.   
  
"Iím sorry, itís a little messy, I stopped the castle servants  from cleaning, they kept rearranging things. I could never find anything."  I turned and gestured to the empty chair.  "Wonít you have a seat?  Would you like some wine?"  The Jedi Master at his most urbane to cover an odd desire to babble. .  .   
  
He sat in the chair and smiled as he took a glass of wine.  "Thank you.  If Iíd know you had this library here I might have tried to persuade someone to let me in. I love to read."   
  
"Then youíre about the only other person here who does.  Iím not quite sure if the Prince even knows how." I sat on the edge of the bed, since Obi-Wan was in the only chair. "Now tell me how you managed to get yourself into this predicament."   
  
"You mean this?"  he asked, tapping the collar with one finger.  "Carelessness.  I was on a trading voyage on my brotherís ship.  We stopped at a port to unload cargo and I went into town, found myself at a tavern.  Iíd never been in one before so I went in to get a drink."  He sighed as he sipped his wine. "They must have put something in the drink, the next thing I knew I was in a slave pen with these power collars on.  They havenít been off since and it has been six months now."   
  
A miserable tale presented with a surprising lack of whining on his part.  I certainly would have whined in his place.  He had such quiet dignity, it hardly seemed fair. "There was nothing you could do to escape or contact your relatives?"   
  
He shook his head.  "No, I have some skill with magic, mostly self-taught and I could have used it escape, I think ­ but not with these on," he said, tapping the bracelets and collar.  "Without the magic or the key there is no way to remove them.  Iíve stayed alive with the hope that Iíd find some way to get away but so far my luck has continued to hold foul."   
  
I suddenly sensed a disturbance down the corridor and looked up.  "I thinkÖsomeone is coming this way."  I frowned and Obi-Wan slipped over to the door and opened it a crack.   
  
"Ah, itís the Prince come to check up on you, the old monster."  Obi-Wan closed the door softly, turned and moved quickly across to the bed, stripping his scant coverings as he did.  "Quickly, we have to get into bed.î" He reached out and began pulling at my clothing.   
  
I fumbled with his hands, surprised and alarmed.  "ButÖbut whatÖ"  I stood, half-heartedly pushing the hands away.  "Canít I just.."   
  
"Shush!"  He continued stripping me, pushed me backwards onto the bed and slid up next to me.  "Just relax," he whispered as he pulled me on top of him, "and leave it to me."   
  
That first kiss was nothing like I had experienced before.  I felt his strong legs wrapping around my thighs, the unfamiliar sensation of his skin against mine ­ heard the door open ­ but I was just too engrossed in the multiple sensations swamping my mind to really care.  Fingers swept up through my hair, gripped my head and I closed my eyes as my mouth was opened and invaded.   
  
Never in all my scholarly pursuits of Truth had I ever experienced that reality.  I was surprised into a complaining whimper when the mouth slid away.  Then it was back, moving down my throat, around my ear, wet and hot, tasting my skin in purposeful sweeps.  Every muscle turned to jelly and I slid off him, reduced to mindless idiocy by the pleasure of that mouth travelling down my chest.   
  
I heard whispers, then the door closed.  Now was the time to take charge, to reassert reality.  I gripped his arms, pushed him away.  "Heís ­ gone.  You can stop.  Now."  I was proud of that.  Mind over body.  It was all pretend, wasnít it?   
  
Obi-Wan rolled over and sat up, pushed the hair back from his flushed face.  "Yes.  Stop.  I can do that."   
  
Another part of me was unconvinced and I grabbed for a robe, dragging it across the room with an excessive amount of the Force.  "It would probably be best if you went back to your quarters."   
  
"I will, if you wish, but it will look odd."   
  
I turned to look at Obi-Wan where he lay sprawled on the rumpled bedding, his body smooth and sheened in the dull gold candlelight.  "Tomorrow.  Ah, tomorrow I will talk to the Prince.  I shall secure your freedom.  A Force user should not be enslaved."   
  
After a momentís hesitation, Obi-Wan stood and gathered his wrap, tying it around his hips absently. "Youíre an unusual man, Qui-Gon. Not many men would miss the opportunity to use a bedslave.î  He turned that charming smile on me. "Unless you prefer women, of course."   
  
In fact, I had come to the conclusion, somewhere in my befuddled brain, that I probably preferred him to just about anything else short of breathing, and possibly including that.  The Force was talking to me very seriously, showing me the bright spirit inside that elegant shell, telling me that here, in the last lonely years of my life, was the one I needed.  The one I hadnít even realised I was waiting for.  My soulmate.   
  
Yet how do you say that to a total stranger, to someone who may not even like you?  You donít of course.  You shake your head, make some vapid excuse and show them the door.   
  
"Tomorrow,î I repeated as he left, "youíll be a freeman.  Somehow, Iíll work it."   
  
I closed the door on the sight of his puzzled expression and leant back against the wood.  I remembered that saying about old fools.  It was certainly time for me to be thinking of going home.   
  
I almost ruined my cause at breakfast.  The Prince was suffering from a monumental hangover and wasnít amused at my trying to talk intelligently to him about anything.  He almost refused, I almost used the Force on him, which was a direct violation of the Ambassadorial Ethic.  Then I remembered the Trade tariffs weíd been discussing and I offered him a one percent reduction in tariff for the quarter if heíd manumit the young man.  Greed won out over hangover and Obi-Wan was free.   
  
The Prince called for Obi-Wan after breakfast, sealed the proper documents with his signet and signed the forms.  "Well, young man, you must have been very persuasive, Lord Jinn here has just signed over about ten thousand credits in trade tariffs to free you.  I think that makes you the most valuable slave in the history of Shambrelar.  Congratulations."   
  
Trade really wasnít my forte, I must admit I hadnít realised it would be quite that much.  The Council would have my eyes for it, but it was worth it to sense the joy singing from him.  When the Duke left I shook Obi-Wanís hand and handed him the document of manumition.  He looked at it and back at me, shook his head.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because. It was the right thing to do."  Because the living Force rang between us as if we were bells attached to a single cord, playing a single note.  Which apparently only I could hear.  "I hope you find whatever happiness you deserve."   
  
I turned and left him standing there with the paper in his hand, left before I got down on my knees and humiliated myself by begging him to stay.   
  
I went back to my rooms to try and write some sort of explanation for the Council to explain my actions. I was probably in trouble ­ nothing new for me ­ but couldnít raise any excitement about it.  All I could think of were mutable green eyes and a smile that touched my soul.   
  
Then I looked up from my writing as I sensed him at the door.  It opened and he hesitated, then stepped inside.  He was dressed quite normally, in pants and tunic, belted neatly at the waist, his beautiful hair tied back in a tail.   
  
"I wonder," he asked quietly, "if youíd mind taking this off for me?î  He touched the gold band at his throat.  "I have the key here."   
  
He held out a small gold key and I took it from him.  "It would be my pleasure."  I inserted it in the lock at the back, unclipped it and pulled it away from him throat. He took it, studied it for a moment, then looked up at me, his features even.   
  
"You should be able to read me know, I suppose.  Through the Force.  As I could you, if your shields werenít quite so impressive."   
  
I let them drop and Obi-Wanís thoughts flooded into me. Uncertainty, that coming from both of us.  He was nervous, unsure of me and I caught his impression of me ­ did I look that formidable to him? ­ his vision was unexpected.  Respect, a little fear, fascination and intense attraction.  No, that couldnít be right, I had to be reading my own desires...  But no, it was true. He found me attractive.   
  
At the same moment he must have caught my feelings for him, my admiration, perhaps some of the lonely longing I tried to keep hidden in spite of everything.  With something like a groan he slowly slid forward and then he was holding me and I was holding him, wrapping that wonderful body against me and burying my face in his hair.   
  
"Do you really want me?" I whispered against the smooth skin of his cheek and he laughed.   
  
"From the moment I saw you.  Sitting there amongst all those repulsive creatures, so quite and contained.  Then you looked up at me and I felt like someone had shot an arrow through my heart."   
  
I told him there was no such thing as love at first sight but he was having none of that.  "îSight, smell, taste and touch, hearing and the Force.  Love at first all-of-them, then.  You sensed it too, didnít you?"   
  
And the age difference?  He tisked it away.  So I was forty-something and he was eighteen ­ who was keeping count?  He catalogued my virtues as he walked me backwards towards the bed  "You see, my wonderful Jedi Master," he said in that honeyed, seductive voice, "I think I need someone to look after me, since I seem prone to getting myself into trouble.  Someone to teach me to be a Jedi." He slid down next to me on the bed and began nuzzling the skin under my chin. "And perhaps I can teach you something as well."   
  
Then he sank slowly down my body, hands running down my sides, over my hips and down my legs in a slow, ruthless progression.  I completely forgot what I was thinking as be bent and slid his hands down my legs, pushed me back against the bed and his face went to my groin, pressed between my legs and I slumped backwards as the feel of that undid all joint and muscle control.   
  
He didnít notice, was too busy rubbing his face back and forth across me in a languid, sensual series of movies obviously designed to drive me insane.  He stopped, finally, but only to pull me to the edge so that he could strip off my pants.  I held on, watched him undress me wearing that flushed, intent expression that I would often see when we were making love.   
  
One of the things I loved most about Obi-Wan was his unpredictability.  I will never quite knew what to expect from him.  That first time  he stopped and studied me, from the top of my head all way down my body and I could almost feel his regard, as if it were something tactile.  He seemed to be memorising me, each inch of skin, each mark, imperfections and all.  He hovered in the moment, holding me, silent, still with that intent stare.   
  
He undressed with  expert speed and then he dropped from sight and I felt his hands at my legs, working upwards in a massaging stroke, lifting them and then he was visible again as he stood with my legs up over his shoulders, kissing the soft skin behind the knee.  His mouth was hot, so hot, teeth nibbling at the skin, little electric shocks running down the backs of my legs. Into my groin.   
  
Since the moment of his enslavement he had only been used, never loved and I gave him the only gift that meant anything right then ­ I gave him the choice.  He accepted it and chose to show me the unwilling lessons heíd learned that he could finally put to good use.  With hot mouth and strong, wet tongue he lubricated me until I was ready for him and then he slid inside me, gently, carefully.  He pushed my legs up against my chest and curled over me until he could kiss me as he moved inside me. He was cleverly co-ordinated, able to hold my lips with his even as his lower body throbbed and thrust and moved against me.   
  
It had been a long time for me and there was some pain but it was a small price to pay for the pleasure of that first joining.  When we had both convulsed into climax and lay together in a damp, crumpled bundle, he chuckled tiredly against my shoulder and I asked him why.   
  
"Oh, Iíve just never heard anyone saying poetry before during sex."   
  
"I must have been delirious, I donít recall doing that before.  It was a line from a poem I loved when I was young." I rubbed my face across his chest, stroking the damp velvet of his skin with my beard. îI didnít realise Iíd said it aloud."   
  
"Tell it me me, "he slurred, eyes bright in blissful pleasure, reflecting my love.   
  
"And the words were . . . ."

_How shall I hold my soul, that it may not_    
 _be touching yours?  How shall I lift it then_    
 _above you to where other things are waiting?_    
 _Ah gladly would I lodge it, all-forgot,_    
 _with some lost thing the dark is isolating_    
 _on some remote and silent spot that, when_    
 _your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating._  

_You and me ­ all that lights upon us, though,_    
 _brings us together like a fiddle-bow._    
 _Drawing one voice from two strings it glides along._    
 _Across what instruments have we been spanned?_    
 _And what violinist holds us in his hand?_  


From "The Possibility of Being" by Ranier Maria Rilke

End

 


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